


Hands

by cheyennesunrise



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Episode Tag, Episode: s03e10 The Devil's Share, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:58:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheyennesunrise/pseuds/cheyennesunrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to “The Devil’s Share”. Oneshot. Finch watches over John after the events of the episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Quick drabble/tag to the end of "The Devil's Share". I hope that you like it!

Harold weaves the white hospital blanket between his fingers and holds it there for a long time.

The blanket is thin, practical. It is the only thing separating him from Mr. Reese at the moment, but he doesn’t remove it.

Not yet.

Shaw is there, and she is a comforting presence, strong and defiant and loyal, ever loyal.

She isn’t watching Finch’s hands. No, she’s saying something about stealing more blood from the hospital down the road.

Finch winces at her admission, but he nods quickly a moment later.

This is Reese they’re talking about- John.

Finch blinks rapidly and turns away from Ms. Shaw. She grabs her backup nine millimeter and waves a quick goodbye as she heads out the door.

Harold is alone now. He can sense the dangerous, electric presence of Root in her Faraday prison, but she cannot see him. She might be able to communicate with the Machine, but she isn’t omniscient.

None of them are.

Harold releases the blanket from his grasp and reaches a shuddering hand to John. He traces John’s arm and rubs a gentle thumb over his wrist, stopping at the cold, bloodied hand.

Harold’s lips part, but no words emerge. He swallows and glances at John’s wan face, his bruised forehead, his shadow-ringed eyes.

He wraps his hand around John’s and squeezes tightly, as if transmitting a last, desperate message through osmosis.

_“I’m so sorry, John. I’m so sorry.”_

John stirs in his sleep, but he does not respond.

There are so many questions, so many things to say. 

Harold opens his mouth again, but nothing comes out. He wants to scream, so he bites his tongue.

He brushes a gentle finger over John’s knuckles and marvels at the solid warmth of the man under his fingertips.

He’s still here. The world is falling apart around them, but John is safe, alive.

Harold leans his forehead against John’s chest and weeps.


End file.
